Sensing I needed a distraction, Hoseok decided that a day of watching movies in bed would be the perfect remedy. The dreary, rain-soaked weather outside matched my mood, casting a grey shadow over everything. It felt as though the sky had surrendered to my melancholy or that the universe itself conspired to keep us indoors. With no obligations or work to worry about, it was a much-needed escape.

The sound of rain tapping against the window only made our room feel more cosy. Under the warm blankets, I nestled against Hoseok, feeling the heat of his body radiate against mine. His warmth was a comforting contrast to the cold, wet world outside. I breathed in the familiar scent of his skin, a blend of cologne and something uniquely him.

Everything about Hoseok helped ground me in the moment. The gentle rhythm of his breath was soothing, while the way his fingers danced across my skin in random patterns made me feel cherished. His kisses reminded me that there was sweetness left in the world.

Somehow, this former gang leader had become my calm amidst the storm raging outside.

Pizza boxes were strewn haphazardly over the blankets, evidence of our laziness and reluctance to cook. We'd devoured slice after slice, laughing and teasing each other as we indulged in the cheesy goodness.

As the movie played, the characters navigated their comedic misadventures. I found myself chuckling at their antics yet my mind was only half-focused on the screen. The light-hearted banter and exaggerated situations faded into the background, overshadowed by the heaviness in my heart. The vibrant colours of the film starkly contrasted with the dark cloud that had been hanging over me for the past two days.

Eventually, Hoseok turned to me, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Have you made up your mind about if you're going to your mother's funeral on Friday?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I shook my head as a flood of conflicting emotions washed over me. I was torn—caught between the duty of a daughter expected to pay her respects and the part of me that still carried the weight of all the pain she had caused. I'd been wrestling with the decision, conflicted between returning to Boston or vowing never to set foot there again.

My mother had been dead to me long before her heart finally gave out 48 hours ago. The irony of her passing wasn't lost on me. She had never shown me love, and for so many years, I was convinced she'd been born without a heart at all. Now, the same organ that seemed incapable of compassion had stopped, and it felt almost poetic. It felt as though the emptiness I had experienced from her my entire life had finally taken its most literal form.

I glanced out the window, watching the raindrops trickle and merge on the panes, just like the memories I couldn't shake. How could I pay respects to someone who had never respected or wanted me?

When I hit puberty at 14, most girls had their mothers to guide them through the awkward changes. Not me. While my friends' mums took them shopping for bras and taught them about pads and tampons, my mother's focus was elsewhere—on herself. Her appearance at her new church was everything. She spent hours perfecting her hair, pressing her dresses, and sitting in the front row. Carey Sullivan was always the picture of grace and piety except at home. To her, keeping up appearances was far more important than helping me through the most confusing time of my life. I wandered the drugstore aisles alone, embarrassed and clueless, while she volunteered at church, too busy mingling with the congregation to notice me.

And then Vinnie came along. He was the new divorcé that all the available church-going ladies had their eye on. My mother wasted no time in sinking her claws into him. Every night, she had a date with him. She was dressing in outfits she hoped would make her look younger and giggling like a schoolgirl as she rushed out the door. Preparing dinner for me became an afterthought. Most nights, I'd come home to an empty kitchen, the fridge and cupboards bare. I rummaged for anything to fill the growing emptiness in my stomach while she dined at fancy restaurants, too busy impressing Vinnie to remember I existed.

When they married, I thought maybe things would change, that perhaps she'd be home more often. Instead, they both became obsessed with their faith, more zealous than ever. After I was born, my mother was devout to the church, but after the wedding, she became a fiercely zealous born-again Christian. It consumed her. Every conversation circled back to God, salvation, and sin, and she threw herself deeper into the church's activities, dragging Vinnie along with her. He played the role of the devout Christian perfectly—at least when people were watching. To everyone else, they were the epitome of righteousness, beacons of faith. But at home, it was a different story.

Vinnie still drank, despite all his talk of salvation. On the nights he came home, slurring his words and reeking of alcohol, he would stumble into my room. He never touched me, but I couldn't shake the unease, the constant worry that one day he might. I once told my mother, trembling with fear and desperate for some kind of protection.

But she didn't care.

She dismissed his actions, too absorbed in maintaining her perfect church life to confront the truth at home. I didn't matter to her. She had her husband, her pristine image, and the approval of the congregation. I was nothing more than a shadow, easily ignored—a bothersome blip in the background of their carefully curated life of faith.

'You ruined my life,' she'd tell me, over and over again. From as far back as I can remember, it was drilled into me. I had wrecked everything—her youthful dreams, her relationships, the life she could've had if only I hadn't been born. Wanting to eat breakfast with her before school was selfish. Wanting her to notice me, to care about me, was a burden too heavy for her to bear. So I stopped asking, stopped expecting. Because no matter what, I was always the problem.

In front of others—especially at church—my mother never missed an opportunity to belittle me, her words cutting deeper than she likely realised. Or maybe she did. 'You should really stop eating so much,' she'd say loudly, glancing at my plate during potlucks, ensuring everyone could hear. 'Surely you don't want to get any fatter than you already are.' She'd pick apart my appearance, her eyes narrowing as she examined me from head to toe. 'If only you took care of your face like I do. You might look halfway decent.' Her words echoed in my mind as the congregation smiled politely, their disapproval mirroring hers. And when others made fun of me, snickering behind my back or saying hurtful things to my face, she never came to my defence. To her, I was a reflection of everything she despised, not someone worth protecting. It was as though every insult, every snide comment, was just another reminder that in her eyes, I was a constant disappointment.

When she wasn't criticising my appearance, she was constantly comparing me to the other kids at church and in the neighbourhood. Her voice would drip with disappointment as she held them up as shining examples of what I could never be. 'Why can't you be more like Sofia Gonzalez?' she'd say, her eyes narrowing as she pointed out the other girl's accomplishments. Or 'Look at how Brad Dorney helps his mother without being asked. You could learn a thing or two from him.' Each time I failed to measure up, she'd follow with something like, 'Emma Meyers would never embarrass her family like you do.' Her words stung like sharp thorns. My straight A's at school and the fact I took advanced classes were never good enough for her.

Until I left my mother's house to live with Grandpa Red, I felt as if my very existence was a burden. Rather than being seen as a well-adjusted, hardworking girl with a kind heart, I was nothing more than a collection of failures in my mother's eyes. No matter how hard I tried, her approval remained elusive, and her incessant comparisons cut deep, leaving me feeling inadequate.

The day she found out I had taken a job at Copacabana to help pay off the debt she had helped create was the day she became dead to me. Throughout my life, she had hurled countless names and accusations my way. But when she called me a whore, that was the final straw. Watching Seokjin order the bouncers to escort her off the premises, I felt an overwhelming sense of liberation wash over me. For the first time, I was free—free from the relentless voice of criticism and the weight of her toxic presence. I no longer had a mother, and with that absence, I finally felt a glimmer of hope for my future.

Hoseok's hand found mine, squeezing gently as if to ground me. "You don't have to go if you don't want to," he said softly, his voice filled with understanding. His touch was warm and steady, anchoring me amidst the whirlwind of my thoughts. I felt his unwavering support, but the decision felt impossibly heavy.

For a moment, I let myself sink into the warmth of his embrace, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly as I drew strength from him. In this little world we had created, I felt safe, but outside these walls lay a reality I wasn't ready to face.

"What do you think I should do?" I asked, my voice quiet amongst the stillness of the room now that the movie had ended.

Hoseok turned to me, his expression soft yet serious as he gently tucked a stray hair behind my ear. "Ultimately, it's your decision, Sunshine. You have to do what feels right for you," he said, placing a tender kiss on my forehead that sent a rush of warmth through my body. He sighed, his hand lingering on my cheek as he gazed deeply into my eyes. "But I can't help but worry. If you don't go to Boston and say your goodbyes, you might regret it later. Holding onto the past could hold you back from embracing your future, and I want you to be free of that burden." His thumb traced my skin, grounding me in his presence. "Whatever you choose, I'll be here to support you, but don't let fear stop you from making a decision that could change everything for the better."

As I mulled over Hoseok's words, a wave of clarity washed over me. He was right; I couldn't let fear dictate my choices any longer. The thought of going to Boston, of finally saying my goodbyes and confronting my past, filled me with a mix of anxiety and determination. I took a deep breath, feeling a sense of resolve take hold.

"I'll go," I said softly, a faint smile tugging at my lips as I glanced at him.

As we went over the details, Hoseok's expression shifted to one of seriousness. "I wish I could be there with you," he said, regret thick in his voice. "But I have those crucial meetings Irene insists I attend for the gala since everyone still thinks I'm leading the Serpents. I wish I could, Sunshine, but there's no way out of this."

I could see the disappointment in his eyes with how badly he wanted to be there for me. It was bittersweet, realising I'd face this journey alone, but his unwavering belief in me gave me the strength to feel less afraid.

Hoseok took my hands in his, his gaze intense yet filled with warmth. "I'm so proud of you for deciding to go to Boston and face this," he said, his voice steady and sincere. Before I could respond, he leaned in, capturing my lips with his in a passionate kiss that felt like a promise—of support, love, and unwavering belief in my strength.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, all my worries melted away, replaced by the warmth of his affection. When we finally pulled apart, breathless, he looked at me with a tender smile. "Are you feeling any better after having the weekend off, Sunshine?" he asked, brushing his thumb gently across my cheek.

I offered him a reassuring smile. "I'm okay," I said, though my voice was a little weaker than I intended. "I've just been exhausted from all the shifts at the club since those two girls got fired for sleeping with patrons. It's been chaotic there. And now on top of that, I'm dealing with the stress of my mother's death." I sighed, running a hand through my hair, trying to push the weariness aside. "I'll be fine once things settle down," I added, though deep down, I knew I needed more than just time to heal.

Hoseok's brow furrowed with concern as he listened to me, his warm gaze never leaving my face. "You're doing so much, and it's okay to admit that it's all weighing on you," he said in a voice filled with understanding. He reached out, taking my hand in his, his grip reassuring and steady. "I know things are hectic right now at the club, but I think Seokjin would be okay if you needed to take some extra time off to rest and recoup."

There was a tenderness in Hoseok's eyes that made me feel truly seen. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe this could become a real marriage.

A marriage where I was genuinely in love with my husband.